Everyone Changes, Everyone
by PuffyCupCake
Summary: People change, right? But what about ghosts?
1. Of Rain and Neighbours

So, I started another fanfic, not about the same thing, but I lost the story-line for my previous one. sob I may or may not finish this. shrug The characters--excluding Mick and Lydia's cousin (who I have named Cassie)--do not belong to me. They belong to, eh... Tim Burton, I would imagine. Correct me if I'm wrong.

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The rain outside was showing no signs of letting up, and a swirling mist hung low to the ground, upset only by passing cars. The last box had been packed, labeled, and shoved into the trailer Lydia had rented.

A vibrating in the pocket of her black denim jeans pulled her out of her head, and she glanced, irritated, at the screen of a small, beaten flip-phone.

"Delia," she muttered, her eyelids drooping. Annoyed as she was, she reluctantly flicked the buzzing device open, placing it next to her ear. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to.

"Lydia? Sweetie, are you sure you want to go today? The weather is terrible and--" Lydia cut her off, that was te only way to get to her.

"Yes, I'm sure. Its only rain."

"But your father and I--"

"Need to let go." Lydia snapped before hanging up.

It wasn't that she didn't like Delia, she had simply been dealing with her whining and begging for nearly a month. Lydia's mind was set, however, and no amount of Delia's nagging was going to change it.

/\//\\/\

"Mon chien est bete."

A blond head ducked lower into the book clasped between two sickly hands.

"Mon chien est bete." he repeated.

The secretary looked up from her paperwork for a split second, rolling her eyes at the man. Lifting a small slip to her eyes, she sighed in relief. She had been listening to his terrible French for months. You'd think after that long, one would be much better at speaking it, but apparently not.

"Beetlejuice, number 1560734, you're next."

/\//\\/\

Windshield wipers weren't of much use at this point. The rain was coming down in waves, crashing onto the road and over the tiny green car. Lydia squinted through the water that cascaded down the glass, muttering to herself.

The storm had seemingly followed her from her old house to Salt Lake City. Utah hadn't exactly been her choice place to live, but she would survive. Her cousin had made her a great deal on a place to rent. Her apartment was upstairs from a recently vacated local store, and she was planning on using it to set up her own. That, and there were always plenty of Bible thumpers to mess with.

"So glad you're here!" read the note, "Sorry I can't be here in person right now, a friend of mine was having car trouble so I had to go help her. If you need anything, ask Mick, the guy next door. I'll stop by as soon as I can. Can't wait to see you!"

Lydia pulled the sticky note off the door, chuckling softly to herself. She did need something; the key. She doubted Mick would have it, but she knocked on his door anyway.


	2. Errands

He had to pull some strings, but he had figured everything out, and he had tracked her down. In the middle of a storm, no less! He gave himself Kudos for that. Through the rain, from across the street at a dimly lit music store, he had watched her pull around the corner and park her car and tiny moving trailer. He debated confronting her now, but decided against it, getting the feeling her should simply wait.

"Hey man, you gonna buy somethin' or you just gonna stalk her?" came the cashier's voice through the deep thundering of music. Beetlejuice simply gave him an irritated glance over his shoulder, ignoring him after that.

/\//\\/\

A tall scruffy man with shaggy brown hair opened the door, looking at Lydia curiously.

"You must be..." he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

"Lydia." she stuck out her hand in a friendly gesture, and it was quickly accepted in a shake.

"Lydia, right. Sorry, I haven't been getting much sleep lately," he began, "I'm Mick, as I'm sure you already know," he gestured toward the note, "Cassie said you'd be coming."

Lydia smiled. He seemed like a really nice guy, maybe a bit rough looking, but likeable all the same.

"Do you need some help unloading?" he asked, opening the door the rest of the way.

"Oh, that'd be great, but I don't even have the key yet." Lydia laughed nervously. Here, Mick produced a small gold key, handing it to her.

"Cassie left that with me for when you showed up." he smiled, sticking his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, 'Let's get you moved in!"

/\//\\/\

Beetlejuice almost felt jealous as he watched Lydia come out of the building, accompanied by a rather tall man in black pants and a dingy green coat. He watched, with pursed lips, as they began unloading her boxes.

"What the hell?" he thought to himself, "Why the hell do you care if she's with a guy? You're here for revenge, remember?"

He shook his head, staring at the floor. She obviously hadn't packed much, because everything was inside in a matter of minutes, despite the pouring rain.

/\//\\/\

"Thanks for the help." Lydia huffed, dropping the last box inside her doorway. She stood up as straight as she could, since her back was slightly sore from moving boxes.

"Not a problem," Mick replied, grinning, "I've got errands to run now. I promised Cassie I'd stay and help you if you need it. Think you'll need anything?"

Lydia thought for a moment, glancing around the apartment, and shook her head.

"I think I'll be okay." she answered, pushing a box further with her foot. Mick shook her hand once more, and left with a wave over his shoulder. Lydia stood in the doorway a moment longer, smiling to herself, arms crossed over her chest.

She decided she'd better clean the apartment before unpacking. It wasn't a run down place or anything like that, in fact it was much nicer than she had expected, but everything was covered with dust, and bathroom just needed to be cleaned in general.

On her knees, the sleeves of her white dress shirt rolled up and her long black hair piled messily onto her head--resembling something of Amy Winehouse--a voice startled her.

"Don't think it's clean yet, eh?"


	3. In Case You Forgot

She knew that voice, and it chilled her to the bone. She looked up, mouth hanging open, to see the dreaded pinstriped suit and boots, the maroon shirt and wild, platinum hair. A pair of scowling eyes leered down at her. She fell back on the floor, sitting on her bare feet, gaping. As if waiting for her to get out her thoughts, he nonchalantly straightened the cuffs of his suit, blinking softly.

"How... Did you get... Here?" Lydia sputtered after a moment, blinking as if trying to wipe away the man--or, ghost--in front of her.

"You don't want to know how much of your mail I had to go through..." he muttered, returning his attention to her.

"That... Isn't quite what I meant. I meant, how did you--" he broke in abruptly.

"Get back? Oh, please, you knew it was a matter of time. I'm dead, Babe, they can't keep me in that waiting room forever--though they sure as hell tried." he rolled his eyes at his own remark.

"Well, why are you here? Why aren't you off preying on teenage girls?" Lydia spat, suddenly feeling a bit braver. She squeaked in fright as Beetlejuice yanked her hand in front of her face, holding his own next to it.

"In case you forgot, we're married. I may be a liar but I'm no cheater." he snarled, "Since I'm dead, we're stuck like this until _you_ die."

Lydia slowly turned her gaze to the tarnished ring she had forgotten was on her finger. How long had it been there? Was it even _possible_ to marry a dead person?

"I... I don't believe you." she mumbled, wrenching her hand from his grip. Beetlejuice stood up straight now, shoving his hands in his pockets and sighing. In his hand, from a puff of smoke, appeared a piece of crumpled, tattered and seemingly worm-eaten piece of paper. He held it at eye level in front of her face. It was a... Marriage license?

"No..." Lydia breathed, snatching the document from his hand.

"Uh, _yeah_." he hissed, glowering at her, "Wow, you were a wife and a widow all in one day."

Lydia scowled at him over the paper, wrinkling her nose. She stood up quite suddenly, slapping the license in Beetlejuice's chest.

"Get out." she demanded.

"You're really just gonna kick your husband out, just like that?" he snapped his fingers, "What'd I ever do to you?"

"You tricked me. You tricked me into marrying you so you could get out!" Lydia argued, stepping closer to him. She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw Beetlejuice's face glow red for a moment--if it were possible, considering he was dead. He looked away from her, at the floor.

"If it makes any difference, I wasn't freed, was I?" he asked, looking up at her, his eyes almost pleading. Lydia felt her heart jump in her chest, and scolded herself. He wasn't quite the same looking. He had lost some weight, and dare she say it, looked rather attractive for a dead guy. She couldn't say anything to this however, and simply stood her ground, obviously unhappy.

"So I take it you're staying whether I like it or not?" she huffed after a moment, closing her eyes and placing a hand behind her head. He chuckled, scratching his chin. His plan was going exactly the way he wanted.


	4. Perfect

Two weeks had gone by since Beetlejuice had decided to waltz back into Lydia's--new--life. Three awkward days. Cassie had returned the day after Lydia moved in, claiming she hadn't gotten back to her own house in time to do much else but sleep, and apologized for it repeatedly, despite Lydia's constant forgiveness. She was quite surprised to see the man that had moved in with her cousin.

"You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend." she had squealed after she had managed to get Lydia alone--or so she thought.

"He's not--" Cassie cut her off. She was much like Delia, but much less bossy.

"Oh, don't be so shy. True, he may not be much to look at, but I'm happy for you all the same." she giggled, patting Lydia's hand and skipping out of the room.

"But, he's not..." Lydia trailed off as the last bits of her cousin's grey scarf disappeared through the door. She figured it was futile to try and convince Cassie otherwise, but for some reason, she didn't seem to have much of a problem with it, and racked her brain trying to figure out why. Beetlejuice had appeared moments later, grinning like a cat from the top of a shelf Lydia had moved into the corner of her new store. He teased her relentlessly for hours afterward, up until she had hurled a hammer at him, when he found shelter in her apartment.

She had been forcing him to sleep on the couch, constantly accusing him of being a pervert. He wouldn't deny it, but he also didn't tell her about the things he had been doing when she was asleep.

Since the first day he arrived, he had been invading her dreams, and taking advantage of her there. From the comfort of his hide-a-bed, he grinned, hearing her soft muffled moans. Strange way to exact revenge on someone, but he wasn't really one to do it outright. For some reason he found a great joy in his method of torture.

And he knew they were working. Throughout the day he would catch her staring at him, her face flushed, and would quickly turn her attention back to whatever she was doing--usually repainting the walls of her store-to-be. And here, he would grin slyly to himself. But he almost felt, well... Bad. Every now and then, the last bits of his conscience would scold him for taking her in such a way. It was almost as bad as rape, except he never actually touched her. In fact, he had made an effort not to do so since he had reminded her that they were married. And it proved more and more difficult with each passing day. The dreams he gave her became increasingly more erotic, to the point Lydia would often wake up gasping his name. And that was too much for him.

/\//\\/\

"Umm..." Lydia looked up from her computer. She had finally opened her store and stocked it with second-clothes, as well as a few she had made herself. The walls had been painted, striped black and neon green, with swirls of white here and there, and covered in areas with mirrors and abstract paintings.

"How much is this? I can't find a price tag." A tall, lean woman in skinny jeans with a bleach blond mohwak asked, holding up a dingy green jacket with a skull printed on the back.

"Oh, ehm... Thirty dollars." Lydia replied, shrugging. The woman paid and left quickly, as it was quite windy outside.

"I think that was a bit cheap-o, even for you..." came the mocking voice of Beetlejuice. Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Who asked you?" she muttered. He appeared behind her, looking over her shoulder at the monitor.

"Ooh, I love a trashy romance novel."

He smirked as she whirled around in her chair, her face absolutely glowing red. However, she didn't say anything, and found it hard to keep eye contact with him for very long.

"Hey Lydia," Mick poked his head in the door in the back of the store, "Cassie and I are going to Vegas for a weekend. Think you can do me a favour and keep an eye on Loki for me?" he asked, referring to his bulldog. He acknowledged Beetlejuice with a quick nod and smile.

"Sure." Lydia replied, glad he had decided to show up when he did.

"Thanks, I'll leave a key under the mat when we leave tomorrow. Thanks a bunch." and with that, he waved and disappeared to pack.

Beetlejuice grinned, things were going _perfectly_.


	5. Newfound Habits

Hugs had been given, and Cassie and Mick rolled out of the parking lot, giving one last wave to Lydia before heading to Vegas. She wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of spending this time alone with Beetlejuice, but oddly, it didn't worry her too much. It was certainly better than just having Loki for company.

She watched them disappear into the afternoon traffic, half-heartedly wishing they would pull around the block once more. But, to her dismay, the only person who showed up was a lanky man with greasy black hair. He skulked around her store a while, nearly an hour, she guessed.

"Probably trying to rip me off..." she mused to herself, watching him from the corner of her eye.

Another forty-five minutes passed and he finally wandered back out. A few more hours, and still now one else had come in. Beetlejuice hadn't even bugged her. Which was fine, however, since she could hardly make eye contact with him.

Against her will, she played back her dream from the previous night. He had been on top of her, cold, but not unwelcome. She found it odd that in her dreams she didn't try to resist in the least. In fact, she had enjoyed it, and pulled him closer every time.

His smell was sickly-sweet, lingering in her nostrils, even after she had woke up, sweaty and shaky. If he knew about those dreams, he would definitely tease her to no end. Unfortunately and unbeknowst to her, _he_ was the very reason she was been having them at all.

/\//\\/\

She had gotten him into the habit of showering and brushing his teeth.

"Just because you're dead doesn't mean you can be filthy."

The first one had been utter hell. Clumps of dead hair had come out, matted and webbed between his fingers, clogging the drain--which irritated Lydia further. He nearly rubbed himself raw trying to scrub the dirt and grime from his skin and under his nails, which were perpetually stained red.

He had almost come to enjoy them, and no longer woke up in dread of the damned things each morning. He cleaned up quite well, for a dead guy.

Stepping out that morning, he wrapped his lower half in his favourite towel, a soft, burgundy one, and wiped the fog off the mirror, smirking at himself. Upon realization of having left his clothes--mainly suits--in the other room, he stepped into the hallway where he collided with Lydia.

"Dammit, Beej." she grumbled, rubbing her bottom.

He looked down at her, apologetically, but said nothing. He was a bit too surprised for anything to come out. Lydia stood there in front of him now, having pulled herself off the floor, her brow lowered in slight annoyance, her tiny silk nightgown, which left little to the imagination, clung to her thighs, making his breath catch for a moment.

As she scowled at him, it occurred to her what she was wearing, _and_ what _he_ was wearing. She couldn't help but let her eyes wander down his chest, over his smooth, slightly toned stomach, and to the top of the towel which hung dangerously low. His hair, still wet, was no longer the matted, greasy mess it was, but now a white-blond and smoothed sheet of silk, which hung, shaggy, just above his shoulders.

Beetlejuice felt his chest tighten as she took one step closer to him, placing her thin hands on his chest.

"Lydia..." he squeaked, trying ever to slightly to break away from her gaze. She didn't budge, however, and instead lifted her lips to his, pulling his head down slightly.

He gave in, placing one hand on her lower back, pulling her closer and using the other to hold up the towel. She tasted sweet, a soft, subtle kind of sugary. This was broken, to his chagrin, when she abruptly pulled away, hurrying into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.

His eyes fluttered half-way open, and he rested his back gently on the door.

"What the hell?"


	6. Apologies

Yeah, I've noticed some of my chapters are excruciatingly short. I apologize. .. They look so much longer on paper. xD Here is the sixth chapter, enjoy. luffles

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"What's wrong with you?" Lydia hissed in her head. Leaning against the edge of the sink, she rested her head on the now cleared mirror. "He tricked you, remember?"

She had no control over herself. The dreams she had been having were apparently getting to her. Again, her mind wandered to another dream she had had. The very first one. The one she had the day she moved in. The day Beetlejuice came, unannounced and uninvited, back into her life.

She hadn't noticed before, but the dreams had gotten less aggressive, and more gentle. Feeling an unwanted urge between her thighs, she punched the wall and turned on the hot water in the shower. Shedding her nightgown, she stepped in and proceeded to scrub herself vigorously.

/\//\\/\

Beetlejuice lay on his bed, his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling fan. He had been dwelling on the kiss Lydia had planted on him, and accidentally gave himself a headache watching the blades spin round and round.

He heard the water start in the bathroom, signalling that Lydia had started her shower. And he caught himself imagining her, the water running down every curve of her body, down her gentle, round lips, her raven hair plastered to her back. He imagined himself there with her, unable to hold back, letting his hands roam freely the soft skin. His lips planted firmly on her collar bone, nipping lightly at the flesh of her neck and shoulder, and everything in between.

And she would close her eyes, and tilt her head back, gasping and moaning softly, his name, "Beej."

"Beej?"

He snapped out of his fantasy, and found himself staring into the giant, almond eyes of Lydia. He panicked in his mind for a moment, before returning his attention to the ceiling fan.

"How long has it been?" he asked, still watching the blades whirl above him.

"What?" Lydia blinked, unsure of what he meant.

He sat up, looking straight at her, his hair falling into his face.

"Since the wedding. How long was I in the waiting room? he clarified.

It was Lydia's turn to look up at the fan in thought.

"About... Six years." she answered, looking back down at him. Her hair was still wet, pulled into a messy bun. Beetlejuice noticed a few droplets of water on her shoulder. One fell, sliding down her chest, over the soft slope of her breast, to disappear into the towel. An awkward silence fell on the room. Lydia sat down on the edge of the bed, looking toward the blank TV screen.

"I'm sorry," Beetlejuice choked, his voice hitching. His plan had gone straight down the drain, just like that. Lydia had never actually done anything to him. In fact, she had only ever tried to help, and he had been too selfish and blind to realize it.

Lydia looked back to him, a mixed expression of shock and confusion displayed plainly on her face. Beetlejuice looked down at his legs, focusing on the deep green sheets of his bed.

"The dreams you've been having," Lydia's face turned instantly turned red, from both realization and embarrassment, "Its my fault."

She stared at him, her mouth open as if to say something, but nothing came out. He forced himself to look up, feeling about as big as a pea. Her expression changed to disappointment, and she stood, without a word, and turned to leave.

And she would have left. Instead, she whirled around and slapped Beetlejuice across the cheek. He stared at her, shocked, sputtering like an idiot.

"You asshole!" she shrieked, "I knew letting you stay would mean no good." she leered down at him, disappointed and angry, clutching her towel tighter. His bottom jaw quivered in an attempt to say something.

"Get out," she spat. He blinked.

"... Wha?"

"Leave. I never want to see you again. And to think I almost fell for you." she muttered, turning to leave. "I'll trust you to find the door yourself." she added over her shoulder.

He couldn't say anything now. For once, he had truly felt bad. He wished he could take it all back. Come back to see Lydia, and apologize to begin with. But there was only so much he could do being a ghost. And so, sadly, he packed the few things he had, and left, leaving Lydia alone.


	7. The Shady One

((The longest chapter so far, even though it is ridiculously short. ; School's had me busy, sorry for the delay. xP Oh, and don't worry, I'm not done. :3 ))

A week. Two weeks. A month. He lost track. How long had he been here? Wandering the streets of Salt Lake City, drunk and stumbling around like a bum. He was a bum. He felt like one. He felt disgusting. He felt like shit. He _was_ shit. He had made her miserable and now there was nothing he could do to take it back, nothing he could do to make her trust him again. Not even a little. Not the tiniest bit.

This morning--or afternoon, he didn't know--he found himself, greasy and reeking, sprawled over an empty crate in some desolate alley. He was surprised to find that his things were still there, most of them anyway. He had been robbed, pick-pocketed, you name it. The incident so many days was obviously getting to him. He never let his guard down. He figured he didn't have much left _to_ guard.

He picked himself up out of the trash and made a futile attempt to brush it off. He gave a sigh, heading out into the streets, his shoulders dropping as he saw what was on the other side of the street.

Lydia.

/\//\\/\

The shop was empty, save for one man. That greasy haired lanky man. The suspicious looking man. The one who was probably trying to rip her off again. Lydia rolled her eyes as he entered again. She became even more irritated as he--like normal--simply skulked around, not buying anything. This was the last straw. She stood up from her computer, hands placed firmly on her counter.

"Look, man. Either buy something or quit coming here everyday. I don't get new stuff_that_ often."

She didn't see it coming. He almost _appeared _in front of her, eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted into a sinister little sneer. She lowered her eyebrows, scowling at him in hopes of making him think she wasn't scared of him. It wasn't working.

A sickly thin hand shot out for the collar of her shirt, literally yanking her over the counter and pinning her to the floor.

"Get off me you sicko!" Lydia shrieked. He didn't listen. She struggled under him. For someone who looked this much like a heroine addict, he was fairly strong. He lowered his thin, hollow face to her, breathing on her with foul, alcohol-ridden breath. She closed her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit on the both of them. His smell was nauseating. Everything about him screamed "lowlife." She kicked as hard as she could, but he was sitting on her legs, so it did little good. She sucked in a breath--much to her displeasure--and screamed.

"MICK! HELP! HELP ME!"

A second later the scruffy man appeared in the doorway, obviously aware that something was wrong. He didn't hesitate, taking long strides toward the culprit. He didn't get very far though, as the dark-haired man pulled a gun from the pocket of his dirty jacket. He aimed quickly, and fired even quicker. The bullet sped through Micks shoulder, and out the other side. He fell, with a shout of pain, to the floor, where the man shot him again, this time in the chest. He lay there, motionless, his eyes closed tightly.

Lydia stared in horror at him. Mick was... Dead? No. It wasn't possible. Mick would never let himself be killed so easily. But still, the tears exploded from her eyes. She tore at the man on top of her, ripping at his face and neck, screaming and flailing uncontrollably. Cassie wasn't there. Thank gawd, because he probably would've killed her, too. She was no match for the crazed man, and it was known to both of them. He sneered down at her, having wrestled her into a position that she couldn't fight. She sobbed, her face laying on the cool tile floor. Black. Green. Black. Green. The checkered squares seemed to stretch forever.

She felt the button of her pants being undone, a hand sliding into her panties. And she called for the one person she knew would help her. The only person who could now.

"Beetlejuice..."

/\//\\/\

That voice. He knew that voice. How could he forget it? He stared back to the store, its windows were glazed over, but he knew something was wrong inside. He took a step off the curb.

"Lydia...?" he reached a hand toward the store. Something was definitely wrong.

/\//\\/\

"Beetlejuice..."

"Shut up!" the gun he carried smacked the back of her skull. The edges of her vision were getting darker, a black mist rapidly closing in on her. She felt a finger enter her, and let out one last sob.

"Beetlejuice."

"What the hell are you doing?" Beetlejuice stood in the doorway now, firmly planted, leering at the man. He simply smirked back and aimed his gun at Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice didn't budge however, and stared at the man in a most menacing way. He surveyed the scene. Mick lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Lydia was unconscious, under the man and he had a hand in her pants. This set him off. He took a step toward the man, and he fired.

The bullet went through his stomach, but being dead, Beetlejuice only faltered for a moment before hauling the man off her. He looked like he was about to piss his pants, and Beetlejuice used this to his advantage. He held him by the collar of his gray t-shirt, his lip curled in disgust and anger. His feet dangled a good foor from the floor. In a desperate attempt, the man fired once more into Beetlejuices' chest, his eyes widening as he didn't even flinch.

Beetlejuice let out an angry growl as he slammed the man against the wall, breaking a rib or two for sure. The man cried out in pain as his chest was slowly pressed into itself. His pain was short lived however, as he raised the gun to his own head and fired. Beetlejuice let the body fall to the floor with a thud that would make anyone sick. Anyone but him.

Lydia was fine. Unconcious, and due to have a headache when she woke up, but fine. Mick however. He was alive. He was alive, but it wouldn't last long. Not unless something was done. The puddle kept growing and growing, quicker than what Beetlejuice had even thought possible. He did as much as he could to keep him alive, but even he could only do so much.


End file.
